A Band of Battle Brothers
by O PolemArch
Summary: Master Gladius assembles an elite team of Dark Angels in order to fufill the last wishes of a dying friend. Brothers of the Sword Episode 2
1. Chapter 1

**Brothers of the Sword**

**Episode 2: A Band of Battle Brothers**

A/N: H'lo all. This here is a repost/edit of a story I had started earlier and then broken up into episodes, since it suits my writing style better. Some Things That Must Be Mentioned Before People Review This Story:

On the subject of female Space Marines: Yes, I know Games Workshop says they don't exist. This is fanfiction, so I don't care. I wanted to see the interplay of characters, and she came to me in a flash of insight. And she's still a badass. So just let it go and read.

About Marine's inner monologue: I know some people have the tendency to portray marines (male or female) as total badasses all of the time and immune to any emotion except rightous anger. I prefer to think of them as men, who, although eleveated to extrordinary positions through science, training, and conditioning, are still men, with all of the emotions, desires, and needs thereof. That's why I've portrayed them like this. It goes hand in hand with the female Space Marine thing.

Anyway, read on and enjoy. Thanks.

* * *

It pained Gladius to see his friend in this state. Colias had once been proud, tall, and handsome, or at least as handsome as a three hundred year old veteran can be. Now, half-entombed in an ornate metal coffin attached to a giant machine, with pipes and wires of all sorts attached to different parts of his body, the librarian barely looked human. 

Despite the honor it conferred, the dreadnought sarcophagus seemed unfitting for one such as him. The young master Gladius knew little of the technological mysteries surrounding the interment of one's body into a Living Dreadnought, but he did know that psychic powers could no longer be used within the adamantium shell. The machinery was unable to support that kind of energy. Colias had lost, besides most of his life, the thing that made him especially great in the Emperor's service (and in his own mind). Still, his old friend would live on, and for now, that was enough for Master Gladius.

The techpriests and apothecaries hovering around the sarcophagus finally sealed the cover of the coffin and stepped back. They had been working for hours- welding, bolting, cutting, inserting wires, praying, chanting, and spreading incense. They were the most honored disciples of the machine god in the entire Dark Angels chapter of the Adeptus Asartes, and it was for this reason they were chosen for this most holy of tasks. A Living Dreadnought was a giant, mechanical walker designed as the most powerful armor in the galaxy- and to become the pilot of one was one of the greatest honors that could be bestowed upon a space marine. Since the pilot had to be in a nearly-dead state, only those who had fallen in battle and were great heroes in their own right were ever given that glory. In the adamantium coffin placed in the center of the machine, the nearly-dead marine would be able to live and serve the emperor for thousands of years longer than he could expect to survive normally.

Colias, after his victory over the C'Tan, had quickly gained the status of chapter hero and his nomination for interment had gone unchallenged. Soon after his fall, he was rushed to the orbiting spacecraft, his life barely sustained by the apothecaries, and had begun interment. It was now finished.

The chief techmarine of the chapter went behind the dreadnought, said another prayer, and typed a command into the keypad next to the engine. The engine slowly came online and lights on various parts of the machine flickered to life. It stood up off the pedestal it had been mounted on with its short armored legs. It swiveled the torso for a moment, as if looking around to gain its bearings, and then stopped to face the group of marines standing in front of it. The Vox-Coder activated and a deep voice emanated from the depths of the machine. The voice was lumbering, as if its owner was very tired and was laboring to speak.

The silence…the voices…why can I not hear them? Am I alone, at last?++

The dreadnought 'looked around' again, and took a step forward. It made a clanking sound that could be heard throughout the ship. It paused again, and then moved its left arm. This was a massive construct, consisting of a large metal canister with four large "fingers", one opposite the other. The dreadnought rotated this now, rapidly, and then stopped. It faced the marines once more.

I see…I am honored… yet saddened. I can only hope that I may still be of service to the chapter. It will be my only happiness, now.++

"Behold," said the Grandmaster of Techmarines, who was among the crowd gathered before the behemoth, "The living dreadnought Colias. May your faith, perseverance and righteous actions inspire our hearts and minds to greater feats of glory for the Emperor and the Lion, and may you continue to serve for many millennia."

…I thank you, brother. This… is where I will stay?++

The marine nodded. "Yes, venerable brother."

Ah…then I must contemplate… my duty. If it would please you…I would like…to be alone.++

"As you wish, venerated one. Brothers." The apothecaries and techmarines bowed their heads at the grandmaster's command and with him in the lead, filed out a blast door, which opened automatically at their approach. The last marine in the line paused outside the door, noticing that the Master Gladius had not moved.

"Are you coming, Master?" inquired the marine.

The terminator turned to face the lone marine. "In a moment, brother. You may go." The marine bowed, and left, leaving Gladius and the entombed Colias. Gladius suddenly moved towards the dreadnought and kneeled on one foot. He had just realized that Colias would rather die with his powers than live without them, but it was too late now. The deed was done- he would serve as a dreadnought until he or his life support machinery was blown asunder in combat. That would probably be a thousand or so years from now.

"Forgive me, brother. I only sought to help you serve better." He looked at the floor, trying to find some absolution from the sin that brought his friend such sadness. He found none. He hadn't expected to.

We both… know that you did this… for yourself…++

Gladius knew it was true, and he knelt as low as his armor would allow. The dreadnought backed up from where it was standing and sat back down in its pedestal. Various hoses and connectors arose and linked with the machine, feeding it power and information.

Arise… my friend. You will have… my forgiveness. But you…must earn it. I… have a task for you.++

Gladius stood up and stared at the gilded cover of the sarcophagus. It was embossed with the image of death, robed, standing atop a mountain of skulls. Its wings were outstretched and one hand was held high in the air. The hand held a sword, from which lightning shot out in all directions, and it was driven through a horned skull. Above this was inscribed 'ANGELVS TENEBRAE' and below the image a scroll reading 'COLIAS' was chained in place. At the very top there was a small slit with a crystal lens inside that glowed red faintly. Despite the eerie beauty of it, Gladius saw none of it. He couldn't help but see the face of his old friend. It wore a frown.

"Anything, my brother. Name the task, and it shall be done."

You… must find me… a replacement. I have… checked the records… of the chapter… and there are no…junior librarians. Nor are there… any scouts… with psychic potential. You must… search worlds until… a suitable citizen… is found. Then you will… have my forgiveness.++

"Very well, brother. I will do this; by the Emperor's Name I will. You, and He, deserve as much."

Indeed. Now… I feel tired. I think… I will take… a nap. Goodnight… brother.++

With these words, most of the lights on the dreadnought flickered off. A display next to his pedestal showed that he had entered hibernation, to be awakened at the next battle zone.

Brother Gladius left the armory swiftly. He knew he could get this approved- Colias wasn't the only one who had gained honor in the chapter as a result of the battle against the Necrons. Some of the other masters might object to his taking their forces, but Grandmaster Azrael was sympathetic to such causes, and understood what it was like to have a sacred mission. Even without the help of the chapter master, Gladius was sure he could pull this off. Rank did have it's privelages.


	2. Chapter 2

Master Gladius sat down at his desk in his cell. He was naked except for his robe- his cell was too small for him to maneuver effectively in his armor. That was hung up on a rack which stood against one wall. Although he had a minimal need for sleep due to the catalepsian node implanted in his brain, he had a bedroll because a dedicated place for quiet meditation and prayer was both useful and spiritually pleasing. The rest of the accommodations were spartan, as befitting a monastic super soldier. Aside from the marine-sized desk and chair, all that remained was a half-filled weapons rack and a few furled banners leaning against one wall.

He picked up a dataslate and began to search through the chapter roster. He had been given permission to assemble a small team to go recruiting with, of no more than 10 marines in total. His guidelines were simple: He must include one chaplain, and no more than two members of the Deathwing. Although he disliked the restriction on members of the Deathwing, he accepted them, for he knew that experienced members of the first company were valuable and their skills were needed elsewhere. ++Let's see++, he though to himself++what the Emperor has in store for us today.++

* * *

Brother-Chaplain Akatriel held out his plasma pistol, crouched low, took aim, and fired. A target at the other end of the range exploded in a white ball of energy. The bright light the flames created flared momentarily in his eyes, until the lenses in his helmet adjusted. He spotted the next target, partially concealed behind a stone wall to his left. He sprung into the air, ignited the burners on his jump pack, flew to his left, landed, and fired again. He stood up straight. The light from the flames reflected off his black armor and white robes as he scanned left and right for more targets. He spotted a group in front of him, about 50 yards ahead and closing fast. They were combat drones, and they were carrying various blunt and sharp implements. Smiling beneath his armor, he put the safety on the plasma pistol and put it in his holster. He muttered a litany under his breath, out of habit, and because it never hurt to give the Emperor his due. ++The unholy surround, you, but you shall not fear them.++

In his left hand, he gripped his gilded Crozius Arcanum, his badge of office and favored weapon. His thumb flicked the activation rune and the mace, which ended in a sculpted metal angel, started glowing blue. With his right hand, he unsheathed his Deathwing honor knife from leg sheath he kept it in. The Lion had believed that honor came from service, and so the blade was no mere showpiece- it had a monomolecular edge that would rend metal as easily as flesh. ++Show no mercy to the heretic, for he has betrayed you.++

Akatriel ignited his jump pack again. At the apogee of his flight path he swung his legs forward, cut the engines, and activated the airbrake. He positioned himself, took careful aim...and landed a kick squarely in the chest of the lead drone. It was crushed beneath more than half a ton of armor, weapons, ammo, fuel and marine. The servomotors in his armor took most of the shock and whined with the exertion as the Chaplain and drone crashed to the ground. He spun around to find the other drones had reacted and gathered around him. One charged at him. He stepped forward and swung his crozius into the machine, which was ripped in two. His armor's sensors told him another was approaching from behind, so he swung around and jammed his knife deep into its chest. There were now three drones left. ++The evil shall fall before the glory of the Emperor, for he is most great.++

He was mentally planning his next move when a notice came on in the display in his helmet, indicating that he should report to hangar 7 as soon as possible. ++Time to speed this up.++ He sheathed his honor knife, snatched a grenade from his belt, turned off his Crozius, let it hang by it's chain, and pulled out his plasma pistol. Akatriel turned to face his opponents. In one fluid movement, he pulled the pin on the grenade, threw it a few yards in front of the drones, and then fired two plasma shots, one to either side of the group of drones. The drones' primitive machine spirit reacted, and the converged in a tight group... right on top of the grenade. There was an explosion, and the drones were reduced to a cloud of smoke and debris. The chaplain put his weapons away once more and walked out the door, heading for hangar 7.++ You shall be victorious; the glory of Him on Terra will preserve you and lend you strength.++

* * *

Brother Terrenas looked up from his bike to find a techmarine hovering over him.

"More unauthorized modifications to your bike, brother? I'm surprised you haven't totally offended the machine's spirit yet. What is it this time?"

As a member of the Ravenwing, Brother Terrenas was completely past being self-conscious about what he did with his bike. Standing 2nd company orders were that if it worked, it was allowed, whether the disciples of the machine god liked it or not. Currently the bike had a number of non-issue pieces of machinery attached to it- a turbocharger, extra lights, a laser rangefinder, oversize magazines for the fork-mounted bolters, along with a number of devotional slogans, seals, and carvings. The Ravenwing was an elite force, and like any other, no two soldiers' equipment was the same.

"A portable music playing device. Found it on that last hiveworld we scouted out. I have discerned a way it might be attached so that I can listen to it in my helmet during combat. I think you'll find the music quite appropriate and motivational."

He held up one of the shining discs that he had found with the archaic device. It was labeled, in an ancient form of gothic, "Metallica."

"Well, you know that as much as I want to, I cannot stop you." Said the techmarine, with no small amount of disdain in his voice. "But I must warn you, Brother. Such meddling could anger the machine god at just the wrong moment."

"I will remember that."

"Oh, and by the way. I just spoke to the Grand Master- you've been assigned to a detachment. A Master by the name of Gladius. Looks like you're going recruiting. You're to report to hangar 7. Immediately."

"Immediately?" The biker was initially surprised, but he recovered quickly. Taking it in stride, he smirked. ++Then I'll finally be rid of you++, he thought, but said "Very well then. Farewell."

He turned from his work, put the device in his saddlebag, and stepped onto the bike. Terrenas put his helmet back on with a loud ++click-hiss,++ gunned the engine, and shouted the customary parting phrase back at the techmarine as he sped down the hallway.

* * *

A few hours after his solitary meditation, Master Gladius stepped out of the lift onto the training level and looked around. There were several obstacle courses, an armory, tracks for vehicle practice, and a very large firing range. Scouts, who were initiates in combat training, were gathered in small clumps all through the room. Their sergeants could somehow be heard yelling commands, taunts, and insults at the initiates over the sound of hundreds of guns, engines, and footsteps. There were also a number of line marines here, killing time in between deployments and prayers while there wasn't anything else to kill.

Gladius approached the range, towering over them in his personalized terminator armor. He needed a stealthy forward element for his recruiting force, and a sniper would do perfectly. He stood back from the firing line. At one end, a 10th Company Sergeant was lecturing his charges on the use of the various weapons. There were some devastator marines in the middle, who were discussing the merits of different styles of missile launcher, and who would occasionally send a round or two downrange to prove a point. Finally, at the other end of the range, where the distance to the targets could be a mile or more, were the snipers.

Gladius watched as two snipers lay on the floor. One chambered a round, while the other looked down at the targets with a pair of binoculars. They held still for a moment, and then the marine with the binoculars called out a series of targets. The scout with the rifle proceeded to fire a shot every second, one at each target.

The master, watching from behind, held up his own weapon and pointed it at the targets. Using a mental command, he zoomed in on them and had the image projected into his left eye. There was a neat hole in the center of each target.

"Very nice shots, Brother. What is your name?"

The marine, who, until this moment, had been totally focused on his weapon, sprung up from the prone position and saluted the terminator.

"Master! I am Brother Cyril, in your service and the Emperor's, sir!"

"Calm yourself, brother. I am putting together a small detachment for a mission, and I require a man of your skill. Gather your equipment and report to hangar 7- there is already part of my small team there and you will be briefed by them. Go now, for the Lion."

"For the Lion and the Emperor!"

The scout looked unsure for a second, and then ran off to gather his things. Gladius walked nonchalantly over to a different part of the range and armed his storm bolter, instinctively muttering litanies of accuracy and efficiency. He touched a button on a console on the range and six man- shaped targets appeared. The light on the console blinked red a few times, and then turned green. He snapped his weapon into position and pulled the trigger six times. The double-barreled weapon roared as rocket-assisted rounds screamed downrange. Gladius saw six successive explosions and each target was ripped to pieces by shrapnel. He smiled and walked back to the lift.

* * *

A strange assortment of noises could be heard emanating from the depths of a compartment on the ++Lion's Honor++ labeled APOTHECARIUM TECNOLOGICA, CELLA IX. There was a constant bubbling noise, a grinding noise, and every so often a loud squeak or bang was heard. Occasionally there would be muttered conversation in high gothic, and more colorful language in other tongues.

"Mierda," said a deep, smooth voice, with a hint of disgust in it.

"What now, brother?" said another voice. It sounded eerily similar to the first, but bore a more exasperated tone.

"Nothing, brother. My digitus luceo has ceased to function again. I must have somehow angered its spirit. Never mind- I will measure it manually."

"Be sure your measurements are accurate, brother. I cannot have new battle brothers injuring themselves for such a petty reason as ill-fitting armor."

"Please. Have I ever failed in this respect in the past?'

"Well, I can recall one instance, during a training exercise-" The other voice cut him off.

"You know very well that was intentional. Not that anyone could ever prove it. Still, do not talk of that frivolously, Remus. Nor you, brother scout."

This last was directed at a third person, who forcefully replied "Yes sir!"

"My dear brother Romulus, worry not. I enjoyed that little incident as much as you did. Though it was somewhat irritating attempting to extricate our dear friend from his codpiece while he was thrashing about so."

"Bah. He deserved that." Changing the subject, he addressed the scout again. "Here, brother, take these measurements to the manufactorium so they may begin crafting your armor. Make sure they take account of the strength and bio readings Brother Remus took- there is no quicker way to end up right back in the apothecarium than to overpower the servomotors. Dismissed."

The compartment door opened and an excited looking scout saluted, and jogged off, carrying a dataslate. Inside, a man armored in white and red stood leaning against a bulkhead. Various needles, saws, scissors, displays, tubes and containers of liquid hung from various parts of his armor. Next to him, on an oversized work stool, sat another marine, clad in red and blue. Tools of all sorts hung from his belt, and a large mechanical arm extended from his back over his head. He was fiddling with a small electronic device on his desk and muttering a prayer to the machine god. Both were bareheaded, their helmets placed on the desk. Their faces, like their voices, were identical. Had they been unarmored, it would have been impossible to tell them apart.

"Machina sanctus, deus armorum... aha. Got it." He snapped the device's cover closed, and pointed it at his brother, and looked at the readout. It was in satisfactory order, so he switched it off and clipped it to his belt. He looked at his brother's face, and could tell, from 150 years experience, that his brother had something to tell him.

"Well?" he asked.

"Summoned. Gladius." ++We've been summoned by Master Gladius++

"Celebrities." ++Well. Look what celebrities we've become.++ An outside observer would have had difficulty deciphering this conversation, but each knew the other in the way that only twins can. Though no librarian had ever detected any connection, there were those that swore they could communicate telepathically. Brother Romulus stood up from his workbench and both marines took their helmets. They walked out the door.

"No. Honored." ++ I don't know about you, but I'm honored to be called by such a man as he.++

"Bah. Anonymity." ++Bah. I believe the true path to honor lies in service without regard for reputation.++

"As you will."

"Where?"

"Hangar 7."

"When?

"Now."

"Armorium?"

"Later."

"As the Emperor wills."

"Indeed."

The marines stopped partway down the hallway. In silence, they boarded a lift. Romulus pushed a button with his servo-arm, and the door slid shut.


	3. Chapter 3

Brother Joshua of the Third Battle Company sat at a stool in one of the many armory chambers that were scattered about the interior of the _Lion's Honor_. In front of him lay his mighty and venerable plasma cannon. It was an ancient and powerful weapon, over two thousand years old if the etching on the handle were to be believed, capable of generating a fusion reaction similar to the reaction that fueled the stars. It would then project the plasma from that reaction several thousand yards from the end of the gun's glistening gold barrel, instantly incinerating whatever was struck. Imperial troops called them sun-makers, and there were no personal armors and few vehicle armors in the known galaxy that could withstand a direct hit. Even certain energy shields were unable to withstand the sheer energy that a properly wielded plasma cannon could bring to bear. The golden glint of the polished, heat radiating case of a plasma weapon was often the last thing many a foe of the Imperium would ever see.

However, as Brother Joshua knew, such power rarely came without a price. His weapon was no exception to the rule. The main drawback to the titanic power that plasma weapons delivered was that they were, put lightly, extremely temperamental. Imperial plasma weapons generated huge amounts of heat which needed to be dissipated very quickly in order to ensure the continued survival of both the weapon and its operator. The cooling technology employed was up to the task, but only barely. Improperly handled, the weapon could quickly overheat, causing damage to the internal components and severe burns to the gunner. In exceptional cases involving severe incompetence, the weapon could even melt down and explode, ending both the weapon's usefulness and the life of the person who carried it. For this reason, plasma weapons were widely feared by those with access to them. While none could argue that a generator of small thermonuclear explosion was highly effective in battle, troops were afraid of loosing their lives and commanders of loosing their troops. Only minimal attempts had been made to improve the cooling, as the techpriests of the Adeptus Mechanicus did not fully understand the technology and did not want to offend the machine's spirit, lest it cease functioning. Typically, plasma cannons were relegated to vehicular mountings, where the large heat sinks could properly cool the weapons and prevent overheats. Outside of the space marines of the Adeptus Asartes, the weapons were never issued in any size larger than a rifle. There were rumors that the xenos Tau had developed plasma weapons that were more reliable and safe than the Imperial versions, but the Inquisition barely acknowledged the existence of the Tau Empire and had absolutely nothing to tell anyone save the highest ranking generals and Grand Masters about their technology.

Space Marines, however, were a separate issue. Joshua felt that the reason that Imperial Guardsmen feared the plasma cannon was because they did not show it the proper reverence and respect that it deserved. Fear was not the same as true reverence. He took meticulous care of his weapon, which was named _Promethius_, a reference to an ancient being of myth who brought fire to dark places. Every day, before he even donned his armor, he would pay due reverence to his cannon's spirit, oiling it's moving parts thoroughly, changing the seals on the fuel canisters, polishing the casing, carefully cleaning the blue cooling coils, checking the machine spirit's settings, and making sure the targeting system properly interfaced with both his armor's machine spirit and his own nervous system, through his black carapace. Joshua's theory was that a properly built, cared for and revered weapon would never fail its owner, and proved it every time he pulled the trigger. He rarely if ever had any malfunctions that he could not isolate and correct immediately, and _Promethius_ had never, ever overheated in his care.

Finishing the morning's arming rites, Joshua first reconnected the fuel, coolant, power, and data lines from the gun to his power pack, and then snapped his power armored gauntlets back on. They sealed to the rest of his suit with a hiss of equalizing pressures and a whiz of servomotors locking in place. He had been working with them off to ensure that the bulky, metal fingers would not cause any damage to the weapon. He then ordered two nearby servitors to re-mount the power-pack onto his back. His face twitched slightly as the pack's electrical contacts sought out and connected with the exposed nerve endings in the black carapace, then eased as the connections firmed up. Suddenly, a few bits of information popped into his mind. He suddenly _knew_ that coolant levels were nominal. He was _sure_ that the core temperature of the fusion chamber was currently below optimum but rising steadily. He could _see_ exactly where his shot would go if he were to pull the trigger at that very moment.

Content that his equipment was functioning perfectly, he reached for his helmet with one hand and snapped it on. Once that connected, he "learned" a few more things. Most of them had to do with his armor status, his surrounding environment, and his metabolic functions. One piece of information stood out. He had a summons to report to Hangar 7 immediately. The summons had been held back from him until his arming rites were completed as per an earlier mental command. He sighed. He was late. The Master might be disappointed. Joshua, however, was not overly concerned. Surely one so honored as he would understand the need for the proper preparation. With a quick glance at the devotional sculpture on the top of _Promethius_, an angel that doubled as a backup sighting mechanism, Brother Joshua walked out of the armory and headed for the lift.

* * *

A lone marine sergeant worked out in the 6th cargo hold of the _Lion's Honor._ The sergeant had picked this particular cargo hold because of its remoteness on the ship- it was used for storing the tanks of fuel that were used to power the marine's flamethrowers, jump jets and vehicles. For that reason it was located as far away from the sub light engines, warp drive, bridge, and hangar as physically possible. The sergeant reveled in the solitude, silently stretching, doing push-ups, jumping jacks, and all those exercises that soldiers have practiced since before the Dark Age of Technology. The sergeant also ran through several martial arts routines; kicking, punching, flipping and jumping with accuracy and power. The sergeant knew that there would have to be a sparring session later- no one could keep their skills sharp through solitary practice only- but the sergeant preferred the feeling of being alone that was difficult to find on a crowded battle-barge.

This sergeant in particular valued the solitude, for this sergeant was unique among all of the other brothers of the chapter. Sergeant Kali was the only female space marine in the Dark Angels chapter and as far as she knew in the entire Imperium. Kali valued the solitude particularly because it gave her time away from the stares of her brothers. Some of the stares were in awe- scouts and junior marines who could not believe that her existence was even possible. Stares from the Chaplains, who disdained her as a breach of dogma, a blasphemy that was tolerated only because of the orders of the chapter leadership. Arrogant stares from her fellow sergeants, who only respected her because she had gone out of her way to prove herself in battle time and again. Appraising stares from the apothecaries and techmarines, who largely viewed her as an experiment in biological engineering and specialized armor design. Kali hated all of these stares. She only felt truly at ease when she was alone or when she was engaged in glorious combat.

There were a few who she respected and didn't look down on her, and she valued them greatly. Some marines recognized her talent for acrobatics and close combat, and respected her for that. Among the scouts and sergeants of the 10th company, she was known for bringing back her charges in one piece. Kali would have and had thrown herself in front of bullets and larger projectiles in order to protect her neophytes. Although she did show concern for her scouts, she believed that it was something that any honorable marine would do in the same situation, she was sick of the "motherly instinct" jokes, and the scouts were but a small part of the thousand marines who made up the chapter. She was still largely regarded with suspicion by a chapter that was infamous for its xenophobia.

It was for these reasons that Kali was disappointed when blast door started to open during her tenth set of calisthenics. She got up from the floor and faced the door with a certain apprehension, but was pleasantly surprised to find Master Gladius walking towards her. He was one of the few marines she truly trusted- he had championed her before when others doubted her loyalty and ability. She saluted him.

"Master Gladius, I am honored."

Gladius returned the salute. "Sister-Sergeant Kali, it is I who is honored. How go your exercises?"

"Outstanding, brother. Would you care for a sparring match? It has been a long time since I have had the chance at such a worthy opponent. Especially one who sees past the shape of my chest plate."

"Sadly, this is not the time, though I may take you up on that offer later. I have come to ask a favor of you."

Kali nearly snarled. "If it's another squad of immature scouts to whip into shape, perhaps you'd care to remember exactly what I told-"

The master cut her off. "Be calm, sister. It is nothing of the sort. The squad that needs your leadership is far from the greened recruits our esteemed colleagues in the 10th company would have you coddle."

"Indeed? And I suppose you'd have me leading Deathwing veterans now, would you?"

"To be honest, no. But these are hardly neophytes. Here," he said, handing her a dataslate, "these are my choices. Perhaps have heard of my mission to find a successor for the venerable Brother-Librarian Colias."

"Indeed," said Kali, taking the slate and activating it, "I have, and likely every Dark Angel this side of the Eye of Terror." She perused the contents of the computer, mostly a collection of personnel files and notes. She was impressed with his selections, despite herself.

"This is quite a selection you have here, Master."

"Then you see why I require your leadership. There are few in this chapter who can weld together such a varied group of marines in the manner that you know you are capable of."

Kali paused to consider this. It was true that she had had problems with other marines in the past, but she did greatly respect Gladius. She was also honored, and slightly flattered, that he had picked her from what surely was an outstanding pool of candidates…

"Very well. Just so long as you are quite sure that this squad of yours will have more respect than some other…marines… that we know of."

"I assure you, they will. Or do you not trust my judgment?" he asked, smirking.

"Oh, of course my brother Shiva. I would trust you with my life." Shiva was Kali's nickname for Gladius, and never used it in the presence of other marines.

"As would I, sister. Though I am sure you could say that for any other marine in the chapter…"

It was Kali's turn to smirk. "At times, I wonder." They both laughed, which was an odd sound for a space marine, very deep, but heartfelt all the same. They stopped after a bit, and Gladius suddenly looked pensive.

"Sister, forgive me, but what is the meaning of 'Shiva'? I have heard you call me that on many occasions, but I know not what it means."

Sergeant Kali was surprised by this sudden outburst of honesty and curiosity, but she took it in stride. "On the planet where I spent my few years before attempting the trial by fire, Shiva was a name for one of the many manifestations of the God-Emperor that the populace believed in. Shiva was both destroyer and redeemer; he danced and worlds crumbled; he danced again and they were reformed. Of every Marine I know, you are most like him."

What she didn't tell him was that in the tradition of her planet, Kali was the name of the jet black-skinned, many armed manifestation of Devi, Shiva's wife. The mythological Kali wore a necklace of skulls, a custom the Sergeant had adopted, and was extremely vicious and ferocious in battle, devouring her foes, but very loyal and devoted to those she loved. Kali had originally chosen this as her new name as a Space Marine for it's ferocity, but after she met Gladius and fought alongside him in battle, she decided he was truly worthy of the title. If perhaps they weren't Marines… but that was not the will of the Emperor. She had never told anyone this. It seemed likely to her that she never would. Space Marines did not show emotions, aside from perhaps righteous anger, or reverence. There was no place for these feelings on a battlefield, where every moment might be your last. And she knew this was true, and in the heat of combat, her work was the only thing on her mind. But in those moments she kept to herself- exercise, mainly, and what free time and rest she had, the thoughts always lingered in the back of the mind.

It was Gladius' turn to be surprised. Even though he had no knowledge at all of the belief systems of whatever planet Kali had come from, and absolutely no knowledge of any deeper meaning than what Kali had told him, he was… honored. Flattered, maybe. More than that, even… Gladius had entered the chapter as a neophyte at the age of 10, and like many Space Marines, had had little time to devote to interpersonal relations or feelings at all, for that matter. But if he had known how to describe the emotion he was now feeling, he might have described it as being touched. Deeply so. No one he could recall had every paid him such a compliment, and meant it. Even good friends like Colias had never compared him to a manifestation of the Emperor. Not seriously, anyway.

"Sister, I..." Gladius struggled for words, but a look from Kali told him she understood. "Thank you," he intoned. They shared a fleeing moment in silence, but then they both got back down to business. Professionalism was instinctual to a space marine.

"Very well. You shall find the squad assembled in hangar 7. You may go commence introductions whilst I assure our ship is in working order."

"Aye, Master. So it shall be done. For the Emperor."

"Indeed. For the Emperor."

* * *

Although it was technically a Dark Angels vessel, the _Lion's Honor_ actually carried a proportionally low number of Space Marines. There were actually only 192 or so Marines on board- One Battle Company (100 marines), a platoon of scouts from the 10th company (20 scouts, 4 scout sergeants), a detachment of tanks and support vehicles (20 vehicle crew, 5 techmarines), infantry support staff (5 techmarines, 5 apothecaries), and command staff (1 Grand Master, 2 Masters, 4 Captains, 3 librarians, 3 chaplains, and 10 Deathwing Veterans). Marines ate, breathed, and slept combat, so the systems, navigation and maintenance of their fleets were automated where possible. Where this was impractical or otherwise infeasible, two support mechanisms filled in.

First, a veritable army of Servitors performed many menial and highly dangerous tasks which were not worth risking marines or even normal humans. Servitors were cybernetically enhanced humans who were kept obedient through a mind-wipe, which effectively lobotomized them. This procedure was used as a punishment on large worlds for notorious criminals and heretics- their bodies could serve the emperor where their minds had not. Servitors were occasionally more useful than more intelligent servants, since they could mount extra arms and tools, they did not necessarily need air or regular sustenance, and did not cost much to replace, since there were always more criminals and heretics to be found on the many hive worlds of the Imperium. Thousands of servitors worked tirelessly on every Space Marine ship.

However, some tasks required more intelligence, ingenuity, or breadth of knowledge than a largely mechanized former criminal could provide, and so Space Marine chapters also retained large Servant Clans. These were large families of men who through various ways and means had become retainers of the chapter and grew up training to be servants, flying the ships, commanding the servitors, and generally overseeing tasks that the Marines deemed unworthy of their time. Each large ship would have a human captain, generally the head of his family, who would ensure that the commands of the marines on the ship were carried out faithfully and with expediency. The clans oversaw the piloting, weapons targeting, engineering, and warp drives of the ship, as well as much of the logistics and what repair the Adeptus Mechanicus would allow them. Each family also usually contained a number of Astropath navigators, individuals with special psychic connections to the warp who could guide a ship from one point in the materium, through the warp, and return it to another point in the materium in relative safety (most of the time). Warp travel and interstellar communication was impossible without Astropaths, and a Chapter could not function without its ships, so the Servant Clans enjoyed comfortable positions within the hierarchy of the Imperium.

Thus, for an Imperial citizen, John Hawke could be considered fairly well off, despite his legal status as the "Eternal Property of the Dark Angels Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes," which was what his papers read. He was the third son of Richard Hawke IV, current Patriarch of the Hawke clan and captain of the _Lion's Honor._ Since his father had only one surviving brother, John could reasonably expect to eventually captain a large strike cruiser and even become Patriarch and gain command of the _Lion's Honor_ itself if he managed to outlast his siblings. At the moment, however, he would have to be satisfied with his status as commanding officer of _Punitor_, one of the five _Hunter_ class destroyers that deployed with the _Lion's Honor._ At the age of 27 Imperial years, he was considered fairly young for a commander of a destroyer, and he had earned that distinction in battle, having destroyed a ship more than five times the size of his own, back when he was merely the command pilot of a thunderhawk gunship. For this, and several other ship-to-ship and ship-to-surface engagements, he had been given his own ship and allowed to pick his own crew.

He still belonged to the Dark Angels, though, and thus he found himself standing on his bridge next to Master Gladius, who had recently arrived via Thunderhawk gunship with his detachment. John didn't mind the fact that he had to report to a marine- he knew he owed them his job to begin with- but he sometimes had to deal with marines who believed they could command a ship better than someone who'd spend his entire life learning how. Gladius, thankfully, was not one of those. To him, a ship was merely a means of getting from one battle to the next, and so while he'd closely overseen the loading of his equipment and troops, he stayed on the bridge merely as an observer. He touched his earpiece as a message was delivered to him, and then looked down at Captain Hawke, who, like most normal humans, was much shorter than the Marine.

"Captain, I have received word that the last of my equipment has been brought aboard and secured. You may take us out at your leisure; I trust you have the coordinates I transmitted to you."

"Aye aye, master. Comms?"

"Yes sir?"

"Inform Fleet that we are loaded and prepared to leave. Navigation, power main sublight drives, set course to these coordinates…"

He typed them into a console that stood on a pedestal near the captain's station. "…and prepare the ship for warp travel. Tactical, status?"

"Main batteries offline, point defense on standby; All hatches sealed at maximum airtight integrity; Void shields powered to 83 per cent and rising; Sensors set to medium range and functioning nominally."

"Very well. Astropathics, are you prepared?"

A slow and mystical-sounding voice answered "Yes, sir, the warp behaves calmly… and I perceive our path to be clear. I forsee a successful journey."

"Outstanding. Communications, inform the fleet of our imminent departure and warn all small craft to retreat to a safe distance. Navigation, lock in coordinates and power warp engines." He turned to Master Gladius to formally ask permission to take the ship to warp, a traditional formality, but one which was always observed. "Sir, The Most Holy Emperor's Ship _Punitor_ is prepared in all aspects for travel and for battle, and I, your servant Captain John Hawke await your word for the commencement of warp operations."

Knowing this script by heart, having performed it many times, Gladius responded, "I, Brother-Master Gladius, by the power entrusted to me by the Dark Angels Chapter of the Adeptus Asartes, Lion El' Johnson, and the Most Holy Emperor himself, do hereby give permission and order the commencement of warp operations onboard the _Punitor._"

"So it shall be." He turned back to his bridge crew and looked out the viewport into space. "Sound the general alarm, set void shields to full power, and engage warp engines now." As he watched the veiwport, a large… something… took shape in the black of space directly ahead of the _Punitor_. The ship vibrated and hummed louder now beneath his feet and he saw the shape in space grow larger and begin to swirl in a mix of blue, red, and purple light. The newly-opened warp rift grew until it filled the viewport on the bridge, and viewed from outside, engulfed the entire ship. The rift sealed nicely behind the ship as Master Gladius began his journey.


End file.
